(no subject)
Title: Spread
Pairing: Travis/Gabe/William
Rating: Adult
Summary: William makes book. Travis is a hacker turned web designer. Gabe could be their ticket out of here.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not reflect real lives or relationships.
Note: For the Alternate Lineups ficathon.
When William was small, his father used to take him on outings, just them, without 'the girls,' his dad said. When he was small, that meant a day at the baseball field or the basketball court and, sometimes, on days he wasn't supposed to tell his mom about, the track; it was all hot dogs and popcorn and riding on his dad's shoulders and cheering with blissful ignorance.
He only started to appreciate the game of it when he was older. Then he understood a little better why his dad would sometimes sing and smile on the way home from the outings and sometimes he'd go into an overarchingly dark mood, which William used to think was because of him until he learned better.
He pieced it together himself when he was about ten. In retrospect, he didn't know why it had taken that long to put together the family fights that used to scare him so much and the little numbers on the stubs that Dad carried around with him. There was something beautifully simple about it, really. Those little numbers had so much power.
He forgot about them for a while after his dad left in a blaze, leaving his mother bruised and crying. The outings stopped, and he didn't mind. He had his mother and sister to take care of now.
For a while, he had everything pinned on baseball, dreaming about playing for the White Sox and reversing years of history. A broken wrist when he was seventeen put an end to any hopes for a pitching career, and it was only then that he remembered the numbers.
It wasn't so hard, really. He was the first to admit that he didn't have the greatest mathematical mind, but he made up for it with equal amounts of nerve and love of the game. If you seemed trustworthy, people would happily give their money up. Most of the time, being a bookmaker just meant a shoulder to cry on or someone to celebrate with.
He has to kick over some cash to the Iannellis every month to keep himself and Travis working and breathing, but that's generally okay. He does some admin work at Courtney's studio to keep up the good citizen front, and because it's convenient to place bets on the office phone when she's doing a shoot. It's not his dream life but he deals.
He doesn't know, just because he happens to pay for the privilege of operating a business, why that entitles the Iannelli crew to call him up and bitch about his deadbeat clients. It always happens when he's trying to file Courtney's invoices for her, or trying to figure out the latest point spread, and he doesn't need the distraction. He does his job, why can't they do theirs?
"This fuck is screwing us over," whatever-his-name-is tells him.
"Oh...." William says, in the I'm-listening-to-you voice that he's gotten really good at. He frowns down at his notepad. One of his sources in Denver told him that Carmelo's been kind of sick the last few days, which is definitely going to hurt the Nuggets' odds. He chews at the end of his pen.
"You keep taking on bums. How many chances are we going to give this fuck before he gets a busted head?"
"Um…" William says, making a decision. He gets his other phone and texts the spread to Travis so he can update the website for him. Maybe he should stop by the store and pick up something nice for dinner. Travis has a tendency to get engrossed in the website code and forget to do things like eat, which can't be healthy. There must be something he could tempt him with.
"This is the last one," what's-his-name says.
So kill him already and quit bitching to me about it. "Oh…okay," William says.
"Get your act together." The line goes dead.
William puts the phone down and allows himself a minute to think about what would happen if he and Travis pulled up shop and took the website down to Belize. It's a pleasant thought.
Except it takes money to disappear, more than either of them have, and placing piddly little bets on the playoffs isn't much of an earner. The Iannellis aren't going to let them go without a substantial amount of bribery.
He finishes his calculations and texts the updated point spread to Travis.
*****
William seems to think that coding the website is some sort of marvel, but all it requires is that Travis know the language. Computers are stupid little fuckers, really. All he has to do is know how to talk to them.
He updates with the point spread and hits refresh to make it went through. It takes about five minutes before the stats counter starts going insane, because gambling addicts seem to get a shock through their lizard brains whenever he updates the site, and he knows that most of them will be entering their credit cards in before ten minutes have passed.
He thinks about those credit card numbers sometimes, floating through the internet, and how easy it would be for him to get to them; how simple it would be to transfer a couple thousand into their pockets. He generally just does that when he's bored, because working with the Iannelli crew means not causing trouble, and Travis already did a stint at Hillbrook after some stupid teenage showing off, and he doesn't want to find out what real jail is like.
He learned about computers at Hillbrook. He's sure that they had the best intentions in mind - they probably wanted to teach him how to do data entry or some shit, but instead he saw something in the lines of code that made him promises and offered him and Pops more than what they'd been putting up with. He always had a good imagination.
After Hillbrook, he pulled off a couple of ATM scams here and there, but he wasn't slick enough to avoid the Iannellis. They pulled him in and had him fiddle around with a few accounts, mostly covering up the money's electronic tracks as it went from Bolivia to Switzerland, kid stuff, really. All it left him with was a shaky grasp on Spanish and some lingering paranoia. He spent all day with oldschool wiseguys who hated his black ass, and if William hadn't come along when he did, he was sure he'd be floating in the river somewhere.
The Iannellis were more than happy to let him go work with William, because it meant he was still under their thumb but they didn't have to talk to him. He knows it wears William down - he's a big dreamer, doesn't like to handle the petty stuff - but Travis is just biding his time until they can get the next big thing.
He hears the apartment door open and shut. Travis yells, "Things are looking good in cyberspace."
"I'll take your word for it," William yells back. "Did you eat lunch?"
Travis looks at the desk. He thinks he had a bowl of cereal at some point today, but he's not sure when that was. "Yeah?"
William makes a disbelieving harrumph. "I got some of those little pizza things you like. I just need to heat them up."
"I can throw them in the oven later. I need to finish this thing."
"Two seconds." He hears William clattering around in the kitchen for a second, and then he re-emerges, looking pleased with himself. He kisses Travis' forehead. "I'm home."
"I noticed," Travis says. "What happened today?"
"Nothing much," William says, and then lets him go. He drops onto the bed and sprawls there, which means he had a shitty day. Travis saves the file and turns off the computer.
"Dinner'll be ready in a second," William says into the pillowcase.
"Awesome." His knees have locked up from sitting for too long. He hitches over to the bed and pokes William in the side. "Move over."
"I'm okay," William says irritably, but moves over. Travis flops down next to him. He plays with William's hair and lets him sulk for a minute before he says, "Anything you want?"
William lies still and doesn't say anything. Travis waits.
William curls up against his chest and says, "I think you should tell me about where we'll go again."
"Where? Belize again? Or somewhere in the Caribbean? Somewhere we can lie on the beach and look at the pretty girls and boys walking by?"
"Somewhere away from here."
"Okay," Travis says, and tells him a story.
*****
Gabe likes his days to go a certain way, but they always wind up getting fucked. He doesn't like to get to the casino until after eight, because that's when the cute, naïve dealers start working and they stop watering down the drinks. He doesn't like waking up before six, because if he hangs around the apartment too long he starts feeling like he needs to change clothes again and that's a pain in the ass. He doesn't like wasting time.
Which is why it's so beyond fucked that he's wide awake at three in the afternoon, and there's not even anything good on TV. He's tried his best to deal with this. He's laid in bed staring at the ceiling in hopes that he'd go back to sleep. When that didn't work he got on his laptop and read Doyle Brunson's blog, even though he ordinarily hates reading whatever bullshit players think they can spew out. Sure enough, he wound up so irritated that he killed off any hope of sleep, so he tried to do some housework, which didn't really make him feel any better. His last resort was to take to the couch, where he picks at a yogurt cup and channel-surfs.
It’s the wasting time that gets to him. He knows he can go over to the casino now and get to work, but he knows the audience too well. He can get away with working after dark, when his swagger tends to go unnoticed among all the other drunken assholes, but early evening means he has to dodge senior citizens and bored families and he sticks out like a sore thumb.
He doesn't work like that. He's a professional.
As a matter of fact, he isn't all that sure he even wants to go through the bullshit of preparing himself and then spending the night sitting on his ass at the poker table, but his rent is due in two weeks and he's got to get the money from somewhere. It's not like being here is all that much better.
Maybe something good will come on TV eventually.
*****
William's still moping, so Travis drags him out for some quality time. They don't really get a chance for dating-type dates; the Iannellis aren't big on having their guys drawing attention to themselves. But Travis figures a couple of hours on the town here and there aren't really enough to make either of them a person of interest.
He takes William to the casino because it's late and the cops don't usually venture out there. William doesn't gamble, he has some sort of creed about mixing business with pleasure, but he seems to enjoy watching Travis lose money.
Sure enough, William cheers right up once they walk in the door. Travis tells him jokes and buys him drinks until he gets to the touchy-flirty stage, which is Travis' favorite part about drinking with William, and then he makes the rounds of nickel slots and blackjack and keno until they wind up at the poker tables.
William leans against him and makes encouraging noises when Travis loses a hand, playing with his hair and lighting cigarettes for him so he doesn't have to use his hands. The people around the table don't seem to know what to do with them. They mostly all look at their cards except for the tall guy at the end of the table who regards them with a mix of irritation and amusement.
Travis has a pair of jacks and not much else. The guy at the end of the table starts teasing the dealer, saying things like, "Yo, you need to tell everyone who you're fucking over. Someone's always got to get fucked over when you're dealing, right?" The dealer doesn't respond but she starts blushing, which only seems to encourage the guy until he gets his cards, which is when he shuts up.
Travis is pretty sure the guy - dark-eyed and skinny in a tailored suit - is up to something; he's been winning too many hands, nothing too extravagant, just paced deliberately to throw people off the scent. William puts his head on Travis' shoulder, and Travis knows he's about to come up with something brilliant. The guy looks down at his cards like an eagle looking at a jackrabbit.
William waits until Travis folds before letting him in on it. He says, "Oh, way to lose the mortgage, babe," and then turns Travis' chin towards him. It must look for all the world like they're just indulging in a little PDA, William's face turned into the side of his neck.
"He's cheating. The tall guy," William says in his ear.
Travis brings his hand to the back of William's head, pulling him in. "I knew he was doing something. How's he -"
"Hand-mucking," William tells him. "He's literally got cards up his sleeves. That's a five hundred dollar suit but his cuffs look like they've been sewn by his mom. They're probably in the lining."
"That takes some balls," Travis says.
"I almost didn't catch it. Did you see how he kind of moves his head wrong when he looks at the hand? That's probably when he switches the card out. He's smart about it, but he's still got a tell."
"You think anyone else noticed?"
"Not yet. He's probably going to back off soon. Move the game elsewhere."
"Hey, lovebirds," the tall guy says. He flicks a chip across the table. "Are you going to fuck on the floor or are you going to play? Make your mind up."
Travis pulls away. The guy takes a rather dainty sip from his vodka tonic. "Distracted by this sexy motherfucker," Travis says. "I raise."
*****
William drapes himself over Travis' back and watches the guy win for a few more minutes. Finally he announces, "You all are cramping my style," gathers up his chips and wanders off to the buffet.
William looks at Travis as the dealer cuts him in. Travis looks expectantly at him. "I'm hungry, babe," William says.
Travis folds. "I think I've done enough damage here." He lets William lead him to the buffet.
William has good instincts about people. He knew five minutes after meeting Travis that this was someone he needed to have on his side, and he's never been wrong about that. He knows that this is their chance; he's got the sweaty palms and pounding heart, and the guy is filling a plate with chocolate croissants in the buffet line ahead of them.
Visions of sandy beaches and mai tais are dancing in William's head. He's been looking for a way to buy themselves out of the Iannellis' grip, and this could be their chance. He looks at the guy again.
"I'm thinking we should chat to him," he tells Travis when they sit down. They're by the door so William can see who goes in and out. The guy is at a table near the back, tearing off pieces of croissant and not really eating them.
Travis doesn't move, but William can see his mathematical mind considering the angles. "He looks like a loner to me."
"I don't think he wants to be, though."
Travis cups his chin in his hand. "Really?"
"He wouldn't have looked twice at us if he wasn't interested," William says. "I think we touched a nerve."
"And this is someone you want to get to know?"
"I think we might need a change of scene," William says.
Travis considers a little more. "He doesn't look like the kind of dude who's got a crew backing him up. If this doesn't work out it wouldn't hurt us, right?"
"If we don't do this I'm going to regret it forever," William says.
Travis says, "Should I talk to him?"
"Just at first. I'll sit there and smile."
"And look pretty."
"Oh, whatever, dude," William says, but picks up his plate.
He follows Travis around the tables and chairs until they reach the guy, who's demolished his plate and is now eating the croissant pieces. Travis says, "Hey. How's the food?"
The guy looks up. "Oh, it's you two. Did you get bored of sucking face?"
"Pretty much," Travis says and plants himself in one of the empty chairs. William sits across from him. "My name's Travie. This is William. What's your name?"
"I didn't ask for company, dude," the guy says. "What the fuck?"
"Just being friendly," Travis says. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
"I'm Gabe, and I'm just trying to refuel," he says. "This has been real fun, bro, but -"
"That's a nice suit," William says.
Gabe looks at him. "Can't go wrong with Calvin Klein."
"Cuffs look a little raggedy, though," Travis says.
There's a brief oh shit flash in Gabe's eyes. He recovers and says, "That's what happens when you buy secondhand."
"Or when you stick a pair of aces up them, right?" Travis says.
The oh shit look comes back and intensifies. "Fuck you, you pussy," Gabe says. "You want to come in, interrupt my dinner and then accuse me of cheating? What the fuck's wrong, you pissed that I took your money? I'm sorry you can't play poker for shit."
"Hey, we're just expressing our appreciation," Travis says.
William says, "You're really smart about it. I guess you have to be in this line of work."
Gabe looks back and forth. He chews on some pastry with studied nonchalance. "So you made me. Big deal. Either of you cops? Otherwise I don't see why I have to answer to you."
"We've both got a little knowledge about bets," Travis says.
"Iannelli crew," William explains. "Well, not really. We just sort of -"
"You're that fuckin' babyfaced bookie who's in with the Iannellis, right? Dude, fuck, this isn't your stomping grounds, I don't know why you're making such a big deal of this."
William winces. He got tagged as Babyface when he took up with the Iannellis, and the name always bugs the shit out of him. "It's William, actually. Or Bill. Whatever."
"Don't get paranoid," Travis says. "What would we gain by ratting you out? Like I said, we're just expressing our appreciation."
"Yeah, expressing your appreciation by trying to muscle in on me. Look, unless you want your money back or you know some floating game I could hit, I couldn't care less about what you want to say."
"Si realmente no les importa, entonces por qué no te fuiste?" Travis says.
William doesn't know what Travis just said, but it seems to catch Gabe's attention. He looks at Travis like a startled deer.
"Cálmese," Travis says. "Todos queremos lo mismo, hermano."
Gabe sits back in his chair warily. "So what do you two want from a schmuck like me, anyway?"
"Just to talk," William says.
"This place has shitty drinks," Travis says. "You through winning? Come back to our place and we'll have some drinks. Business meeting, dude. Three professionals kicking back."
Gabe looks at his stack of chips. "That's what you want?"
"Couldn't hurt," Travis says.
Gabe takes his chips. "I gotta cash out. You're driving. And we need to swing by an ATM on the way there, I got bills to pay."
"You're the boss," William says.
*****
Gabe doesn't know which one of these two is in charge. Travis did a lot of the talking, but William's the one who actually makes the book, so he's got to have at least a little clout. He doesn't think he's in any danger of getting whacked; these guys are peripherals at best and the Iannellis would hang them out to dry if they brought any attention to themselves. He still doesn't know what the hell they want from him.
They live in a reasonably sized apartment with a bed by the window and a huge honking computer setup, which he guesses is probably Travis' domain. There are little action figures and toys lined up on top of the monitor. Travis catches him looking and says, "I sit at that fuckin' thing all day, I need a little visual distraction once in a while."
Travis talks him into sitting down; William offers to make drinks. He's a little less on edge now that he's decided he's not likely to be killed tonight, so he asks for vodka and William goes to fetch it, ambling into the kitchen on impossibly long legs.
Travis asks, "So how'd you manage it, anyway? The grift."
Gabe shrugs. "I'm a gambler by nature, you know what I'm saying? The rest is just leveling the playing field."
William comes back and hands him a glass. He perches on the arm of Travis' chair. Travis immediately shifts his posture, resting his arm on William's thigh. They look so easy with each other that Gabe loses his train of thought.
"So what's the technique?" William says. "Show us."
"I don't give my game away, man," Gabe says. Travis' hand is curled around William's knee.
"Just a demonstration. You don't need to explain anything," William says soothingly.
"Why would we jack anyone's moves?" Travis says. "You got your show, we got ours, you know?"
Gabe looks at them. William has this wide-eyed innocent look down cold. "Get me a deck of cards. And another drink."
William gets the cards, Travis pours more vodka. Gabe always enjoys having a rapt audience, so he takes them through the muck a few times, first at normal speed and then slowed way down. He's going to have to sew up his cuffs again; he got enthusiastic with the sleight of hand and now all his cards are falling out onto the table.
"Neat trick, right?" he asks, picking up the cards and arranging them neatly.
"Cool," Travis says. William looks at Gabe's hands quietly, frowning like he's doing math.
"I've got other skills too," Gabe says. "I ain't no one-trick pony, man. This is just the most convenient."
"Like what?" William asks.
Gabe shrugs. "It doesn't work so well in casinos, but give me a card game and a deck and I can second deal with the best of them. That works better if someone else is in on it though. Otherwise you can just look like an asshole."
"Why don't you have someone else?" Travis says. "You don't play nice with others?"
"I'm the nicest motherfucker you're ever going to meet," Gabe says. "Yo, you know what it is? I just hate that feeling when someone's off to greener pastures. At least I know I can't fuckin' walk out on myself."
"So that's the problem?" William says. "People getting bored?"
"Not with the game," Gabe says. "Really, where are you going to find someone that you can trust that much?"
"Need to be choosy," Travis says.
"We've been having the same problem," William says. "Making book for the Iannellis isn't exactly -"
"Sucks," Travis says.
Gabe looks at William, then at Travis' hand resting on William's knee. "Can't be so bad running with the made guys."
"Oh, it's bad," William says.
Gabe keeps looking at Travis' long tattooed fingers. "Anything in this for me?"
William smiles. "What do you want?"
*****
William's taking a risk, Travis thinks. Gabe's still coming off cagey, even after the drinks and chit-chat, and Travis has learned to be cautious by experience. Should we have let him show off a little more? Should I have told more jokes? But William's got good instincts, and Travis saw Gabe's eyes flick from his hand on William's knee up to William's mouth at the sound of the word want. He keeps quiet and lets William do his thing.
Gabe tries to play it off, blustering, "Hey, unless you want to pay my cable bill, I don't think I can help you out. Really, you got anything I want?"
"Maybe just companionship," William says.
The thing about William is that he never learned how to flirt. When they first started working together, it took Travis months to figure out that the scribbled lyrics William kept leaving by his computer weren't just suggestions for songs that he should download. William always opts for either the high school convoluted or the direct route to seduction. It's a good way to catch someone off guard, once it sinks in.
William stays still on the arm of the chair, earnest and sincere and hopeful, and Gabe looks like he has no idea what the hell to do. He says, "Dude, Bill - you're cute and everything - dude, your boyfriend's sitting right there."
"Do I look like the jealous type?" Travis says. "Really, what kind of asshole would I be to deprive anyone of his sexy ass?"
Gabe doesn't say anything.
"You see me freaking out?" Travis says. "He's not one to brag, but you're in the presence of a world-class cocksucker. That doesn't happen every day."
"Maybe to you it doesn't," Gabe says, somewhat nonsensically, looking back at William's mouth.
"Here," William says and gets up.
"You sure about this?" Gabe says, but he shuts up as soon as William gets close.
Travis loves how careful William is at first, kissing Gabe's forehead chastely before tilting his chin up, kissing his mouth before he even puts a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't hurry, doesn't immediately jump into tongues and teeth and nervous fingers, just keeps the same unwavering focus. He touches Gabe like they're old friends meeting again, his fingers on Gabe's face like he already knows it.
He would have expected Gabe to be a jabberer, but he just goes very quiet and his eyes get dark. He's still wary, unbending and keeping his hands down by his sides; he only starts to relax when William pokes him and says something teasing in his ear. Then he smiles.
William says something else; Gabe says faintly, "Don't talk, please -" hand around William's arm. William murmurs something agreeable and kisses him harder.
Travis is trying to gauge whether he should keep watching or wander off somewhere until they're done. He gets the answer when William sinks to his knees to reach for Gabe's belt; Gabe's pupils are blown wide open and his eyes look fathomless, but he keeps looking from William to Travis and his breath quickens. Travis stays put.
"Putting me in an awkward position," William says, tugging at Gabe's pant leg. "C'mon."
Gabe groans in protest but allows William to pull him up. William drops the belt behind him and pulls him onto the bed, stripping off Gabe's suit unhurriedly and putting the clothes aside.
"Teasing bitch," Gabe says hoarsely, and then he shuts up once William spreads his legs apart.
William sucks at the skin along the inside of Gabe's thigh, slowly moving his way upward while he's stroking Gabe's cock with long fingers. Gabe is half on the bed and half off, head hanging off one end with William between his legs at the other. Travis says, "You're like an unwound pretzel."
William hoists himself up. His face is shiny with sweat and spit. "Travie. Come see."
Travis gets up. Gabe is almost voiceless while William slicks up his hand, sliding up and down his cock like he has two sets of mouths. He gasps a little when William takes him in especially deep, grabbing at his hair.
"Told you he was world-class," Travis says. He really wants to touch himself right now.
William looks up from behind his sweaty hair and says, "Wiseass."
"No stopping," Gabe says.
"You can join in, if you want," William says. "How's that sound?"
Travis doesn't need to be told twice. He fumbles out of his pants, dancing out of the pant legs, and William laughs.
"Enjoy the view," Travis tells Gabe, leaning over him slightly. "Is it weird that you're looking at my cock upside-down?"
Gabe's had this glazed happy look in his eyes for at least five minutes, but it changes to a flash of what the fuck do I do now? when he looks up at Travis. He tenses.
"Hey, it's all right," Travis says. "I'll do the work for you, okay?" William immediately slows down, sucking gently and lingering, nuzzling at Gabe's abdomen.
"I haven't -" Gabe says. "I mean, not like this -"
"It'll be okay," Travis says. "Just take it slow. I know what I'm doing."
"He's a professional," William mumbles indistinctly.
"I could be, if I really wanted to."
Gabe laughs a little. "I'm okay. I'm okay. You can't just thrust that thing in my face and not expect me to freak out. But don't come in my mouth, all right?"
"You're the boss." Travis rubs two fingers along his throat, making soothing noises, and the feel of Gabe's tongue is soft and tentative when he finally touches the head of his cock to Gabe's lips. Travis shivers a little and Gabe gives him a smug "Hmmph."
"Keep doing that," Travis says. "Nothing to be scared of, right?"
Gabe gags a little when Travis pushes in further, tears starting at the corners of his eyes, and Travis pulls back. He runs his thumb along Gabe's jaw while he gets his breath. He waits a beat, two beats, and slides back into Gabe's mouth, all soft and hot.
It doesn't take long before Gabe's moaning around his cock, and Travis knows neither of them are going to last much longer, and he manages to pull out of Gabe's mouth just as he comes over his stomach and William's hand. William's sigh of accomplishment pushes him over, and he comes against Gabe's cheek, splattering white against the skin.
"Fuck yeah," Gabe says faintly.
William pushes himself to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Anyone else?"
"Water," Travis says. "And if we have any of those little pizza things left, I could go for a couple of those."
"You got it." William leans over and kisses him. He tastes salty and faintly bitter.
"You're awesome," Travis says. "Did you want to get off too?"
William shrugs. "I like this more."
Travis swats his ass lightly. William laughs and wanders off to the kitchen.
Gabe looks like he's fighting to stay awake. Travis drops beside him, licks his fingers and tries to brush away the worst of the come. "Get you fixed up," he says.
"Mmph," Gabe says. "How'd I do?"
Travis pets his hair with his other hand. "Beautiful."
"So this could really be something you want?"
Travis hears William humming contentedly in the kitchen. "What do you think?"
Eyes nearly shut, Gabe says, "I could go for this."
Pairing: Travis/Gabe/William
Rating: Adult
Summary: William makes book. Travis is a hacker turned web designer. Gabe could be their ticket out of here.
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and does not reflect real lives or relationships.
Note: For the Alternate Lineups ficathon.
When William was small, his father used to take him on outings, just them, without 'the girls,' his dad said. When he was small, that meant a day at the baseball field or the basketball court and, sometimes, on days he wasn't supposed to tell his mom about, the track; it was all hot dogs and popcorn and riding on his dad's shoulders and cheering with blissful ignorance.
He only started to appreciate the game of it when he was older. Then he understood a little better why his dad would sometimes sing and smile on the way home from the outings and sometimes he'd go into an overarchingly dark mood, which William used to think was because of him until he learned better.
He pieced it together himself when he was about ten. In retrospect, he didn't know why it had taken that long to put together the family fights that used to scare him so much and the little numbers on the stubs that Dad carried around with him. There was something beautifully simple about it, really. Those little numbers had so much power.
He forgot about them for a while after his dad left in a blaze, leaving his mother bruised and crying. The outings stopped, and he didn't mind. He had his mother and sister to take care of now.
For a while, he had everything pinned on baseball, dreaming about playing for the White Sox and reversing years of history. A broken wrist when he was seventeen put an end to any hopes for a pitching career, and it was only then that he remembered the numbers.
It wasn't so hard, really. He was the first to admit that he didn't have the greatest mathematical mind, but he made up for it with equal amounts of nerve and love of the game. If you seemed trustworthy, people would happily give their money up. Most of the time, being a bookmaker just meant a shoulder to cry on or someone to celebrate with.
He has to kick over some cash to the Iannellis every month to keep himself and Travis working and breathing, but that's generally okay. He does some admin work at Courtney's studio to keep up the good citizen front, and because it's convenient to place bets on the office phone when she's doing a shoot. It's not his dream life but he deals.
He doesn't know, just because he happens to pay for the privilege of operating a business, why that entitles the Iannelli crew to call him up and bitch about his deadbeat clients. It always happens when he's trying to file Courtney's invoices for her, or trying to figure out the latest point spread, and he doesn't need the distraction. He does his job, why can't they do theirs?
"This fuck is screwing us over," whatever-his-name-is tells him.
"Oh...." William says, in the I'm-listening-to-you voice that he's gotten really good at. He frowns down at his notepad. One of his sources in Denver told him that Carmelo's been kind of sick the last few days, which is definitely going to hurt the Nuggets' odds. He chews at the end of his pen.
"You keep taking on bums. How many chances are we going to give this fuck before he gets a busted head?"
"Um…" William says, making a decision. He gets his other phone and texts the spread to Travis so he can update the website for him. Maybe he should stop by the store and pick up something nice for dinner. Travis has a tendency to get engrossed in the website code and forget to do things like eat, which can't be healthy. There must be something he could tempt him with.
"This is the last one," what's-his-name says.
So kill him already and quit bitching to me about it. "Oh…okay," William says.
"Get your act together." The line goes dead.
William puts the phone down and allows himself a minute to think about what would happen if he and Travis pulled up shop and took the website down to Belize. It's a pleasant thought.
Except it takes money to disappear, more than either of them have, and placing piddly little bets on the playoffs isn't much of an earner. The Iannellis aren't going to let them go without a substantial amount of bribery.
He finishes his calculations and texts the updated point spread to Travis.
*****
William seems to think that coding the website is some sort of marvel, but all it requires is that Travis know the language. Computers are stupid little fuckers, really. All he has to do is know how to talk to them.
He updates with the point spread and hits refresh to make it went through. It takes about five minutes before the stats counter starts going insane, because gambling addicts seem to get a shock through their lizard brains whenever he updates the site, and he knows that most of them will be entering their credit cards in before ten minutes have passed.
He thinks about those credit card numbers sometimes, floating through the internet, and how easy it would be for him to get to them; how simple it would be to transfer a couple thousand into their pockets. He generally just does that when he's bored, because working with the Iannelli crew means not causing trouble, and Travis already did a stint at Hillbrook after some stupid teenage showing off, and he doesn't want to find out what real jail is like.
He learned about computers at Hillbrook. He's sure that they had the best intentions in mind - they probably wanted to teach him how to do data entry or some shit, but instead he saw something in the lines of code that made him promises and offered him and Pops more than what they'd been putting up with. He always had a good imagination.
After Hillbrook, he pulled off a couple of ATM scams here and there, but he wasn't slick enough to avoid the Iannellis. They pulled him in and had him fiddle around with a few accounts, mostly covering up the money's electronic tracks as it went from Bolivia to Switzerland, kid stuff, really. All it left him with was a shaky grasp on Spanish and some lingering paranoia. He spent all day with oldschool wiseguys who hated his black ass, and if William hadn't come along when he did, he was sure he'd be floating in the river somewhere.
The Iannellis were more than happy to let him go work with William, because it meant he was still under their thumb but they didn't have to talk to him. He knows it wears William down - he's a big dreamer, doesn't like to handle the petty stuff - but Travis is just biding his time until they can get the next big thing.
He hears the apartment door open and shut. Travis yells, "Things are looking good in cyberspace."
"I'll take your word for it," William yells back. "Did you eat lunch?"
Travis looks at the desk. He thinks he had a bowl of cereal at some point today, but he's not sure when that was. "Yeah?"
William makes a disbelieving harrumph. "I got some of those little pizza things you like. I just need to heat them up."
"I can throw them in the oven later. I need to finish this thing."
"Two seconds." He hears William clattering around in the kitchen for a second, and then he re-emerges, looking pleased with himself. He kisses Travis' forehead. "I'm home."
"I noticed," Travis says. "What happened today?"
"Nothing much," William says, and then lets him go. He drops onto the bed and sprawls there, which means he had a shitty day. Travis saves the file and turns off the computer.
"Dinner'll be ready in a second," William says into the pillowcase.
"Awesome." His knees have locked up from sitting for too long. He hitches over to the bed and pokes William in the side. "Move over."
"I'm okay," William says irritably, but moves over. Travis flops down next to him. He plays with William's hair and lets him sulk for a minute before he says, "Anything you want?"
William lies still and doesn't say anything. Travis waits.
William curls up against his chest and says, "I think you should tell me about where we'll go again."
"Where? Belize again? Or somewhere in the Caribbean? Somewhere we can lie on the beach and look at the pretty girls and boys walking by?"
"Somewhere away from here."
"Okay," Travis says, and tells him a story.
*****
Gabe likes his days to go a certain way, but they always wind up getting fucked. He doesn't like to get to the casino until after eight, because that's when the cute, naïve dealers start working and they stop watering down the drinks. He doesn't like waking up before six, because if he hangs around the apartment too long he starts feeling like he needs to change clothes again and that's a pain in the ass. He doesn't like wasting time.
Which is why it's so beyond fucked that he's wide awake at three in the afternoon, and there's not even anything good on TV. He's tried his best to deal with this. He's laid in bed staring at the ceiling in hopes that he'd go back to sleep. When that didn't work he got on his laptop and read Doyle Brunson's blog, even though he ordinarily hates reading whatever bullshit players think they can spew out. Sure enough, he wound up so irritated that he killed off any hope of sleep, so he tried to do some housework, which didn't really make him feel any better. His last resort was to take to the couch, where he picks at a yogurt cup and channel-surfs.
It’s the wasting time that gets to him. He knows he can go over to the casino now and get to work, but he knows the audience too well. He can get away with working after dark, when his swagger tends to go unnoticed among all the other drunken assholes, but early evening means he has to dodge senior citizens and bored families and he sticks out like a sore thumb.
He doesn't work like that. He's a professional.
As a matter of fact, he isn't all that sure he even wants to go through the bullshit of preparing himself and then spending the night sitting on his ass at the poker table, but his rent is due in two weeks and he's got to get the money from somewhere. It's not like being here is all that much better.
Maybe something good will come on TV eventually.
*****
William's still moping, so Travis drags him out for some quality time. They don't really get a chance for dating-type dates; the Iannellis aren't big on having their guys drawing attention to themselves. But Travis figures a couple of hours on the town here and there aren't really enough to make either of them a person of interest.
He takes William to the casino because it's late and the cops don't usually venture out there. William doesn't gamble, he has some sort of creed about mixing business with pleasure, but he seems to enjoy watching Travis lose money.
Sure enough, William cheers right up once they walk in the door. Travis tells him jokes and buys him drinks until he gets to the touchy-flirty stage, which is Travis' favorite part about drinking with William, and then he makes the rounds of nickel slots and blackjack and keno until they wind up at the poker tables.
William leans against him and makes encouraging noises when Travis loses a hand, playing with his hair and lighting cigarettes for him so he doesn't have to use his hands. The people around the table don't seem to know what to do with them. They mostly all look at their cards except for the tall guy at the end of the table who regards them with a mix of irritation and amusement.
Travis has a pair of jacks and not much else. The guy at the end of the table starts teasing the dealer, saying things like, "Yo, you need to tell everyone who you're fucking over. Someone's always got to get fucked over when you're dealing, right?" The dealer doesn't respond but she starts blushing, which only seems to encourage the guy until he gets his cards, which is when he shuts up.
Travis is pretty sure the guy - dark-eyed and skinny in a tailored suit - is up to something; he's been winning too many hands, nothing too extravagant, just paced deliberately to throw people off the scent. William puts his head on Travis' shoulder, and Travis knows he's about to come up with something brilliant. The guy looks down at his cards like an eagle looking at a jackrabbit.
William waits until Travis folds before letting him in on it. He says, "Oh, way to lose the mortgage, babe," and then turns Travis' chin towards him. It must look for all the world like they're just indulging in a little PDA, William's face turned into the side of his neck.
"He's cheating. The tall guy," William says in his ear.
Travis brings his hand to the back of William's head, pulling him in. "I knew he was doing something. How's he -"
"Hand-mucking," William tells him. "He's literally got cards up his sleeves. That's a five hundred dollar suit but his cuffs look like they've been sewn by his mom. They're probably in the lining."
"That takes some balls," Travis says.
"I almost didn't catch it. Did you see how he kind of moves his head wrong when he looks at the hand? That's probably when he switches the card out. He's smart about it, but he's still got a tell."
"You think anyone else noticed?"
"Not yet. He's probably going to back off soon. Move the game elsewhere."
"Hey, lovebirds," the tall guy says. He flicks a chip across the table. "Are you going to fuck on the floor or are you going to play? Make your mind up."
Travis pulls away. The guy takes a rather dainty sip from his vodka tonic. "Distracted by this sexy motherfucker," Travis says. "I raise."
*****
William drapes himself over Travis' back and watches the guy win for a few more minutes. Finally he announces, "You all are cramping my style," gathers up his chips and wanders off to the buffet.
William looks at Travis as the dealer cuts him in. Travis looks expectantly at him. "I'm hungry, babe," William says.
Travis folds. "I think I've done enough damage here." He lets William lead him to the buffet.
William has good instincts about people. He knew five minutes after meeting Travis that this was someone he needed to have on his side, and he's never been wrong about that. He knows that this is their chance; he's got the sweaty palms and pounding heart, and the guy is filling a plate with chocolate croissants in the buffet line ahead of them.
Visions of sandy beaches and mai tais are dancing in William's head. He's been looking for a way to buy themselves out of the Iannellis' grip, and this could be their chance. He looks at the guy again.
"I'm thinking we should chat to him," he tells Travis when they sit down. They're by the door so William can see who goes in and out. The guy is at a table near the back, tearing off pieces of croissant and not really eating them.
Travis doesn't move, but William can see his mathematical mind considering the angles. "He looks like a loner to me."
"I don't think he wants to be, though."
Travis cups his chin in his hand. "Really?"
"He wouldn't have looked twice at us if he wasn't interested," William says. "I think we touched a nerve."
"And this is someone you want to get to know?"
"I think we might need a change of scene," William says.
Travis considers a little more. "He doesn't look like the kind of dude who's got a crew backing him up. If this doesn't work out it wouldn't hurt us, right?"
"If we don't do this I'm going to regret it forever," William says.
Travis says, "Should I talk to him?"
"Just at first. I'll sit there and smile."
"And look pretty."
"Oh, whatever, dude," William says, but picks up his plate.
He follows Travis around the tables and chairs until they reach the guy, who's demolished his plate and is now eating the croissant pieces. Travis says, "Hey. How's the food?"
The guy looks up. "Oh, it's you two. Did you get bored of sucking face?"
"Pretty much," Travis says and plants himself in one of the empty chairs. William sits across from him. "My name's Travie. This is William. What's your name?"
"I didn't ask for company, dude," the guy says. "What the fuck?"
"Just being friendly," Travis says. "Aren't you going to introduce yourself?"
"I'm Gabe, and I'm just trying to refuel," he says. "This has been real fun, bro, but -"
"That's a nice suit," William says.
Gabe looks at him. "Can't go wrong with Calvin Klein."
"Cuffs look a little raggedy, though," Travis says.
There's a brief oh shit flash in Gabe's eyes. He recovers and says, "That's what happens when you buy secondhand."
"Or when you stick a pair of aces up them, right?" Travis says.
The oh shit look comes back and intensifies. "Fuck you, you pussy," Gabe says. "You want to come in, interrupt my dinner and then accuse me of cheating? What the fuck's wrong, you pissed that I took your money? I'm sorry you can't play poker for shit."
"Hey, we're just expressing our appreciation," Travis says.
William says, "You're really smart about it. I guess you have to be in this line of work."
Gabe looks back and forth. He chews on some pastry with studied nonchalance. "So you made me. Big deal. Either of you cops? Otherwise I don't see why I have to answer to you."
"We've both got a little knowledge about bets," Travis says.
"Iannelli crew," William explains. "Well, not really. We just sort of -"
"You're that fuckin' babyfaced bookie who's in with the Iannellis, right? Dude, fuck, this isn't your stomping grounds, I don't know why you're making such a big deal of this."
William winces. He got tagged as Babyface when he took up with the Iannellis, and the name always bugs the shit out of him. "It's William, actually. Or Bill. Whatever."
"Don't get paranoid," Travis says. "What would we gain by ratting you out? Like I said, we're just expressing our appreciation."
"Yeah, expressing your appreciation by trying to muscle in on me. Look, unless you want your money back or you know some floating game I could hit, I couldn't care less about what you want to say."
"Si realmente no les importa, entonces por qué no te fuiste?" Travis says.
William doesn't know what Travis just said, but it seems to catch Gabe's attention. He looks at Travis like a startled deer.
"Cálmese," Travis says. "Todos queremos lo mismo, hermano."
Gabe sits back in his chair warily. "So what do you two want from a schmuck like me, anyway?"
"Just to talk," William says.
"This place has shitty drinks," Travis says. "You through winning? Come back to our place and we'll have some drinks. Business meeting, dude. Three professionals kicking back."
Gabe looks at his stack of chips. "That's what you want?"
"Couldn't hurt," Travis says.
Gabe takes his chips. "I gotta cash out. You're driving. And we need to swing by an ATM on the way there, I got bills to pay."
"You're the boss," William says.
*****
Gabe doesn't know which one of these two is in charge. Travis did a lot of the talking, but William's the one who actually makes the book, so he's got to have at least a little clout. He doesn't think he's in any danger of getting whacked; these guys are peripherals at best and the Iannellis would hang them out to dry if they brought any attention to themselves. He still doesn't know what the hell they want from him.
They live in a reasonably sized apartment with a bed by the window and a huge honking computer setup, which he guesses is probably Travis' domain. There are little action figures and toys lined up on top of the monitor. Travis catches him looking and says, "I sit at that fuckin' thing all day, I need a little visual distraction once in a while."
Travis talks him into sitting down; William offers to make drinks. He's a little less on edge now that he's decided he's not likely to be killed tonight, so he asks for vodka and William goes to fetch it, ambling into the kitchen on impossibly long legs.
Travis asks, "So how'd you manage it, anyway? The grift."
Gabe shrugs. "I'm a gambler by nature, you know what I'm saying? The rest is just leveling the playing field."
William comes back and hands him a glass. He perches on the arm of Travis' chair. Travis immediately shifts his posture, resting his arm on William's thigh. They look so easy with each other that Gabe loses his train of thought.
"So what's the technique?" William says. "Show us."
"I don't give my game away, man," Gabe says. Travis' hand is curled around William's knee.
"Just a demonstration. You don't need to explain anything," William says soothingly.
"Why would we jack anyone's moves?" Travis says. "You got your show, we got ours, you know?"
Gabe looks at them. William has this wide-eyed innocent look down cold. "Get me a deck of cards. And another drink."
William gets the cards, Travis pours more vodka. Gabe always enjoys having a rapt audience, so he takes them through the muck a few times, first at normal speed and then slowed way down. He's going to have to sew up his cuffs again; he got enthusiastic with the sleight of hand and now all his cards are falling out onto the table.
"Neat trick, right?" he asks, picking up the cards and arranging them neatly.
"Cool," Travis says. William looks at Gabe's hands quietly, frowning like he's doing math.
"I've got other skills too," Gabe says. "I ain't no one-trick pony, man. This is just the most convenient."
"Like what?" William asks.
Gabe shrugs. "It doesn't work so well in casinos, but give me a card game and a deck and I can second deal with the best of them. That works better if someone else is in on it though. Otherwise you can just look like an asshole."
"Why don't you have someone else?" Travis says. "You don't play nice with others?"
"I'm the nicest motherfucker you're ever going to meet," Gabe says. "Yo, you know what it is? I just hate that feeling when someone's off to greener pastures. At least I know I can't fuckin' walk out on myself."
"So that's the problem?" William says. "People getting bored?"
"Not with the game," Gabe says. "Really, where are you going to find someone that you can trust that much?"
"Need to be choosy," Travis says.
"We've been having the same problem," William says. "Making book for the Iannellis isn't exactly -"
"Sucks," Travis says.
Gabe looks at William, then at Travis' hand resting on William's knee. "Can't be so bad running with the made guys."
"Oh, it's bad," William says.
Gabe keeps looking at Travis' long tattooed fingers. "Anything in this for me?"
William smiles. "What do you want?"
*****
William's taking a risk, Travis thinks. Gabe's still coming off cagey, even after the drinks and chit-chat, and Travis has learned to be cautious by experience. Should we have let him show off a little more? Should I have told more jokes? But William's got good instincts, and Travis saw Gabe's eyes flick from his hand on William's knee up to William's mouth at the sound of the word want. He keeps quiet and lets William do his thing.
Gabe tries to play it off, blustering, "Hey, unless you want to pay my cable bill, I don't think I can help you out. Really, you got anything I want?"
"Maybe just companionship," William says.
The thing about William is that he never learned how to flirt. When they first started working together, it took Travis months to figure out that the scribbled lyrics William kept leaving by his computer weren't just suggestions for songs that he should download. William always opts for either the high school convoluted or the direct route to seduction. It's a good way to catch someone off guard, once it sinks in.
William stays still on the arm of the chair, earnest and sincere and hopeful, and Gabe looks like he has no idea what the hell to do. He says, "Dude, Bill - you're cute and everything - dude, your boyfriend's sitting right there."
"Do I look like the jealous type?" Travis says. "Really, what kind of asshole would I be to deprive anyone of his sexy ass?"
Gabe doesn't say anything.
"You see me freaking out?" Travis says. "He's not one to brag, but you're in the presence of a world-class cocksucker. That doesn't happen every day."
"Maybe to you it doesn't," Gabe says, somewhat nonsensically, looking back at William's mouth.
"Here," William says and gets up.
"You sure about this?" Gabe says, but he shuts up as soon as William gets close.
Travis loves how careful William is at first, kissing Gabe's forehead chastely before tilting his chin up, kissing his mouth before he even puts a hand on his shoulder. He doesn't hurry, doesn't immediately jump into tongues and teeth and nervous fingers, just keeps the same unwavering focus. He touches Gabe like they're old friends meeting again, his fingers on Gabe's face like he already knows it.
He would have expected Gabe to be a jabberer, but he just goes very quiet and his eyes get dark. He's still wary, unbending and keeping his hands down by his sides; he only starts to relax when William pokes him and says something teasing in his ear. Then he smiles.
William says something else; Gabe says faintly, "Don't talk, please -" hand around William's arm. William murmurs something agreeable and kisses him harder.
Travis is trying to gauge whether he should keep watching or wander off somewhere until they're done. He gets the answer when William sinks to his knees to reach for Gabe's belt; Gabe's pupils are blown wide open and his eyes look fathomless, but he keeps looking from William to Travis and his breath quickens. Travis stays put.
"Putting me in an awkward position," William says, tugging at Gabe's pant leg. "C'mon."
Gabe groans in protest but allows William to pull him up. William drops the belt behind him and pulls him onto the bed, stripping off Gabe's suit unhurriedly and putting the clothes aside.
"Teasing bitch," Gabe says hoarsely, and then he shuts up once William spreads his legs apart.
William sucks at the skin along the inside of Gabe's thigh, slowly moving his way upward while he's stroking Gabe's cock with long fingers. Gabe is half on the bed and half off, head hanging off one end with William between his legs at the other. Travis says, "You're like an unwound pretzel."
William hoists himself up. His face is shiny with sweat and spit. "Travie. Come see."
Travis gets up. Gabe is almost voiceless while William slicks up his hand, sliding up and down his cock like he has two sets of mouths. He gasps a little when William takes him in especially deep, grabbing at his hair.
"Told you he was world-class," Travis says. He really wants to touch himself right now.
William looks up from behind his sweaty hair and says, "Wiseass."
"No stopping," Gabe says.
"You can join in, if you want," William says. "How's that sound?"
Travis doesn't need to be told twice. He fumbles out of his pants, dancing out of the pant legs, and William laughs.
"Enjoy the view," Travis tells Gabe, leaning over him slightly. "Is it weird that you're looking at my cock upside-down?"
Gabe's had this glazed happy look in his eyes for at least five minutes, but it changes to a flash of what the fuck do I do now? when he looks up at Travis. He tenses.
"Hey, it's all right," Travis says. "I'll do the work for you, okay?" William immediately slows down, sucking gently and lingering, nuzzling at Gabe's abdomen.
"I haven't -" Gabe says. "I mean, not like this -"
"It'll be okay," Travis says. "Just take it slow. I know what I'm doing."
"He's a professional," William mumbles indistinctly.
"I could be, if I really wanted to."
Gabe laughs a little. "I'm okay. I'm okay. You can't just thrust that thing in my face and not expect me to freak out. But don't come in my mouth, all right?"
"You're the boss." Travis rubs two fingers along his throat, making soothing noises, and the feel of Gabe's tongue is soft and tentative when he finally touches the head of his cock to Gabe's lips. Travis shivers a little and Gabe gives him a smug "Hmmph."
"Keep doing that," Travis says. "Nothing to be scared of, right?"
Gabe gags a little when Travis pushes in further, tears starting at the corners of his eyes, and Travis pulls back. He runs his thumb along Gabe's jaw while he gets his breath. He waits a beat, two beats, and slides back into Gabe's mouth, all soft and hot.
It doesn't take long before Gabe's moaning around his cock, and Travis knows neither of them are going to last much longer, and he manages to pull out of Gabe's mouth just as he comes over his stomach and William's hand. William's sigh of accomplishment pushes him over, and he comes against Gabe's cheek, splattering white against the skin.
"Fuck yeah," Gabe says faintly.
William pushes himself to his feet. "I don't know about you, but I could use a drink. Anyone else?"
"Water," Travis says. "And if we have any of those little pizza things left, I could go for a couple of those."
"You got it." William leans over and kisses him. He tastes salty and faintly bitter.
"You're awesome," Travis says. "Did you want to get off too?"
William shrugs. "I like this more."
Travis swats his ass lightly. William laughs and wanders off to the kitchen.
Gabe looks like he's fighting to stay awake. Travis drops beside him, licks his fingers and tries to brush away the worst of the come. "Get you fixed up," he says.
"Mmph," Gabe says. "How'd I do?"
Travis pets his hair with his other hand. "Beautiful."
"So this could really be something you want?"
Travis hears William humming contentedly in the kitchen. "What do you think?"
Eyes nearly shut, Gabe says, "I could go for this."